Thursday, March 17, 2011

poetry thursday

toasted homemade bread
slathered with jam and butter
i sit on the edge of my seat
straining to hear...
waiting to see...
wondering in form
you would choose to appear to me...
would it be in the blur of bokeh
or a broken heart shaped rock found on the beach
will i hear it when it happens
will i notice
will i see...

1 comment:

Char said...

i hope they did